It’s a busy morning and we have multiple customers waiting for prescriptions.

Once one of them is ready, I call out the surname on it. Three women simultaneously step forward to claim it, and immediately, all three look confused. I then call out the first name and one of the women steps back. I now have two confused women laying claim to the prescription, which is marginally better than three.

After a few moments of conversation, we work out what is happening. 

Of the three women, two shared a surname but not a first name, and two shared a first name but not the surname. Additionally, the third lady’s surname was similar enough to the other two that it was easily mistaken if you weren’t paying close enough attention, e.g. if two of the women were named Smith, the third was named Smits.

As if this wasn’t enough of a coincidence, the two women who shared a surname (who had never met) realised that they were distantly related by marriage and quickly struck up a new friendship, agreeing to meet later on for coffee.

In well over a decade of working in the industry, I’ve never had such a coincidence!

And yes, all three ladies eventually got their own correct prescription and they all went on their merry ways.

This story is part of our Feel Good roundup for September 2020!

Read the next Feel Good roundup story!

Read the Feel Good roundup for September 2020!

My mother and I are going to a craft show. Mum is driving but we have to divert from the regular route to pick up her friend from a house she recently moved to. Mum doesn’t have a Sat Nav so she is relying on me to navigate from a road map that I put beside me; I know the way as I have driven to the venue myself on other occasions.

It’s a twenty-five- or thirty-minute drive, basically on just four roads. I have no problems on three of those roads, and then we get to a fork in the road.

Me: “We need to take the right fork.”

Mum’s friend does not drive and has a very grating voice that turns high-pitched when she gets upset; it borders on screeching.

Friend: “No, we need to go left.”

Me: “No, it’s right.”

Friend: “No, left.“

Mum: “Which way do I go?”

Me: “Just go right.”

We take the right fork.

Friend: *High-pitched* “This isn’t the way my daughter goes! She always goes through [Town #1] and the sign back there said it was to the left.”

Me: “We don’t need to go to [Town #1]; we are going to [Town #2], which is to the right.”

Friend: “We have to go through [Town #1] to get to [Town #2]; that’s the way my daughter always goes.”

Me: “Yes, when she picked you up from your old house that’s the way she would go, but we are coming from the opposite direction.”

Friend: “We’re never going to get there; we’re lost. Turn around, [Mum], so we can go the right way.”

Mum pulls over and puts her blinker on to turn around.

Me: “Just stick to this road; it’s only five minutes up the road”

Mum pulls back onto the road and we keep going. All the way, her friend is ranting about how we are going the wrong way; her voice is rising to screech level. I just want to tell her to shut up. After what seems like an eternity with my ears almost bleeding, but is actually less than five minutes, we see the sign for the venue.

Me: “There it is, on the left-hand side.”

Friend: “But it should be on the right. Why isn’t it on the right? I didn’t know it moved.”

Me: “It hasn’t moved; we came from the opposite direction of what you usually take.”

Friend: “Well, how was I to know? I don’t drive; my daughter does and she goes the way we should have gone.”

Me: “It would have taken us twenty minutes longer.”

She was still ranting how we had gone the wrong way as Mum parked.

I’m a fifteen-year-old female. I work in bakery, sort of as a waitress but I also clean and make coffees, etc. I’m the youngest employee and often have to deal with the entitled Karen’s because they think I “have to respect my elders.”

It is during the school holidays. I have worked eight-hour shifts for five days straight and I am on my last shift for the week. We have already closed and I am just tidying up the front while my boss is counting money in the back. I have just finished wiping down the front pastry cabinet when I hear footsteps behind me. As we have already closed, I ignore them, thinking it is my boss’s kid.

I move back behind the counter to check the till and I get this eerie feeling that someone is watching me and suddenly I hear that sound that every Karen makes.

Customer: “…ahem.”

I slowly turn around and standing before me is a typical Karen; from the haircut to the entitled smirk, she sure as h*** fits the bill.

Me: “Oh! Sorry, ma’am, we’re actually closed.”

Customer: “What?! So you can’t serve me anything?”

Me: “Well, I guess I could get you a few cakes—”

Customer: “Hmph! That’s what I thought, missy.”

I HATE being called names as a form of condescension, especially when I haven’t done anything to deserve it, but I know that if I tell her to leave my boss won’t be very happy with me; I’m the youngest so I can’t tell any of the customers to leave no matter what they say.

I suck it up and start to place the cakes she orders into a box. While I’m doing this, I can see that she’s tapping her foot and checking her watch.

Customer: *Sighs loudly* “What’s taking so long?!”

Keep in mind this is on my time and she’s ordered eight different cakes. I slowly reply through gritted teeth.

Me: “Because you ordered so many cakes, I have to walk from cabinet to cabinet to find them.”

She sighs loudly again. I finally finish getting the cakes and ring her up on the till.

Me: “You realize we closed over half an hour ago; if you could come just a little bit earlier I would be able to serve you more things.”

Customer: *Scoffs and laughs* “It’s not my fault you didn’t lock the door, and you’re young so you have to serve me anyway.”

She smirks at me. I cannot believe the audacity of this woman. I feel like telling her to get the f*** out, but again, she’s already paying, so I know I can’t.

Customer: *Wiggling her fingers* “Toodles.”

I told my boss about the encounter and all she said was that at least she’d bought a lot. I hate people like this woman so much!

I’m a teacher. One of my students has recently started a part-time job and is celebrating their first payday.

Me: “Congratulations! Even after years of having them, I still find payday exciting. “

Student: “Wait, they pay you?”

Me: “Um… yes. I mean, I do love the job, but I don’t do it for free. Why did you think I’m here?”

Student: “I don’t know. I thought this was like a hobby or something.”

Every single student around him dissolved into laughter.

Lately, my six-year-old daughter has been rather obsessed with the idea of fighting bad guys. Maybe I’ve been letting her watch too many shows about kid superheroes. Who knows?

One day, I collect her from afternoon care and see that she’s made a paper mask and is carrying a couple of sticks she picked up. When I ask her about them, she explains:

Daughter: “This is my superhero mask, and this stick is for threatening people so they go away. But if they don’t go away, I have this other one so I can stab them in the heart so they die.”

Me: “Wow, that sounds pretty violent.”

Daughter: “Yes, that’s why I made this creepy mask. It’s to scare them away, because I don’t want to have to be a murderer. Because then I would have to go to kid jail, and then I could never go to a sleepover again.”

I’m honestly not sure how I’m supposed to respond to that. I can’t fault her logic, at least! And for the record, no, she has never tried to stab anyone in real life.